


The Mortician

by SPNFangallovesSquirrel



Series: Supernatural Imagines [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:47:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNFangallovesSquirrel/pseuds/SPNFangallovesSquirrel
Summary: What happens when a John Doe wakes up in your morgue?





	The Mortician

You sigh, looking over the body on your slab. Despite the graying skin and marred face, the man’s eyes were a beautiful shade of emerald. He probably would be a gorgeous man, if he were alive.  _This is too unfortunate_. You thought to yourself. He seems too young to have died.  
  
“Male, thirty–five. Wounds to the abdomen, chest, torso and face. For now, I will call him John Doe.” You spoke into your recorder.  
  
“The lacerations seem to be that of an animal. They are an inch wide in most places, and run the full length of his chest and torso.” You turn off the recorder, and look to the man. “You poor thing. You pissed someone off.”  
  
You attempt to stitch the man up. If someone did claim him, you didn’t want them to see how incredibly torn up he was.  
  
After spending hours, meticulously caring for the body, you called it a night. You didn’t leave, but you didn’t work. The morgue, albeit a morbid place to stay, it was quiet. No one would talk back to you, and you could think in silence.  
  
While contemplating life, or how your latest victim lost his, that’s when it all started. The moment you weren’t sure you wanted to be a mortician. Ever again.  
  
It was a childish nightmare; that you knew. You knew zombies weren’t real, but the thought of a body reanimating itself freaked the shit out of you. Almost literally.  
  
The air goes cold, colder than usual for the cool climate of the morgue. You look around as the lights dim and start to flicker until you’re stuck in the dark.  
  
“Ah shit.” You mutter. You walk slowly toward your tools, grabbing a scalpel, your only weapon for defense.  
  
You looked to the only body you had, in your small town morgue.  
  
The John Doe.  
  
A small groan comes out of nowhere, and you can see the thin sheet covering the body, start to rise and fall, as if he’s breathing.  
  
The breathing becomes frantic, the man under the covers is afraid. You slowly inch your way towards the body until you’re at the table.  
  
You white – knuckle the scalpel and slowly pull down the sheet. You scream, half expecting a corpse half dead and mutilated to shoot up and attack you.  
  
“Please don’t hurt me. I have money in my purse and I’m not armed.” You look down at your scalpel. “Well, not really.”  
  
He’s breathing heavy. “Where am I?” He sits up, and the sheet drops around his naked body. His chest was free of any scars; mutilations or the stitching you had done to close up his wounds. His face was free and clear of any scars or bruises and his color was back to normal.  
  
“The Kansas City morgue. Please don’t hurt me.”  
  
He breathes in and starts to get off the table, but notices he’s naked. He gives a light chuckle. “Uh, do you have anything I can wear?”  
  
And that was the last time you ever saw the green eyed man.


End file.
